Search & Recovery: A Retrieval Artist Universe Novel (3 page)

The little girl’s face fell, as if a ring shouldn’t be treated like that. She scurried back to her father.

Berhane raised her head, her gaze meeting his. He was about her age, as dark as his daughter. His daughter had his black eyes. He raised his eyebrows at Berhane, as if questioning—what? That she was all right? That she hadn’t harmed his daughter?

Berhane sighed, then looked at the door leading out of the Terminal. Damn that Torkild. He had deliberately ended their relationship here, so that he wouldn’t have to answer to her.

He was a coward, just like Berhane’s father had said he was.

He’s not worthy of you, my girl
, her father had said more than once, and that comment had always made Berhane feel special and pathetic at the same time.

She had felt special because her father had noticed her, and pathetic because she needed him to notice her. And pathetic too because he had criticized her boyfriend, and in doing so, had criticized her as well.

It irritated her that her father had been right. And her mother had been as well. Neither of them had liked Torkild.

Berhane had always suspected her mother wanted to talk with her about Torkild on the day of the bombing, four years ago now.

Dammit.

The man was no longer looking at her. He had his hand on his daughter’s shoulder. What were they doing there? Seeing someone off, as she had been doing? Because it was too late to get onto the shuttle to Athena Base.

Berhane had no idea why she was so interested in them. Maybe because the girl had brought herself to Berhane’s attention. Or maybe because Berhane couldn’t remember ever standing with her father anywhere, waiting for something, just her and her dad.

Except at her mother’s funeral. Then they had stood side-by-side, greeting the guests, because Berhane’s brother Bertram had been too broken up to talk to anyone. Bert had acted as if he were the only one harmed by their mother’s death, as if he were the only one grieving.

He had barely made it through the funeral before screaming at their father. Somehow, the explosion that had killed her mother, an explosion caused by some terrorists connected with a place that Berhane had never heard of before that awful day, had become their father’s fault, at least in Bert’s eyes. Berhane had never understood the fight.

Their mother had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and had died for it.

End of story. Sometimes life was like that, much as Berhane hated it.

Much as she grieved over it.

Real grief, not the tears she was shedding for Torkild The Terrible.

She wiped at her eyes.

Bert had taken his inheritance from their mother and fled to the Frontier, after their father had made him sign off on any interest he had in the family business from that moment forward. Berhane had thought the requirement harsh, but her father had said that it would protect her inheritance and Torkild, the bastard, had agreed.

Berhane ran a finger beneath her eyelid. She probably should leave. She had made a scene after all. Her mother would have been appalled.

No, that wasn’t right: her mother would have laughed. Her mother had been the one who hadn’t cared about the opinion of others. Her father cared, mostly because he was afraid that a bad opinion would have a negative effect on business.

Berhane glanced at the door, then looked up at the screen hanging behind one of the sign-in desks. It showed the shuttle to Athena Base waiting for the last of its passengers to get settled.

First class always got to go first, and since Torkild’s law firm paid his way onboard, Torkild always traveled in the most expensive way possible.

He’s only marrying you for your money, my girl
, her father had said.

I’m not fond of him
, her mother had said after meeting him.
Berhane, you can do so much better
.

How right her parents were. She could have done a lot better—many times over. She had wasted almost a decade of her life on Torkild, waiting for him, trying to set a date, even volunteering to move to Athena Base so that she could live near his work instead of so very far away.

I need an excuse to come back to my home, Berhane
.
I will come to see you,
Torkild had said after he got hired by Schnable, Shishani, & Salehi, the best defense firm in the human part of the Alliance. The hiring had been—in his words—a dream come true. And he wanted to establish himself there before bringing her to that far region of space.

The idea that she was “an excuse” to come home had bothered her, but she had let it slide. She had known what he meant.

Or she’d thought she had.

He would bring her to Athena Base as soon as he felt secure in the law firm. Only, after he had become a junior partner in the firm, he still had excuses.

He doesn’t love you, B,
Bert had said on one of their infrequent talks over very distant links.
I have no idea what his game is, but he doesn’t love anyone. Not even himself
.

She might have believed that—okay, she had believed that (a little) when she was getting her second doctorate. Torkild needed her father’s name and his corporate backing, just as clout, to help him with his job at S
³
. But after he became a partner? He didn’t need her or her clout or her family’s name.

Not that the Magalhães name meant much outside of Earth’s solar system. She had tried to explain that to Bert too, but he hadn’t listened.

Everyone’s heard of us
, he said bitterly in one of their conversations.
Even way out here, I can’t escape Dad’s reputation
.

Bert wanted to escape their father. Berhane did not. She even hated leaving Armstrong. She couldn’t imagine living off-Moon.

She was still staring at that stupid shuttle. What had she been thinking? She was holding things up as much as Torkild was. She didn’t want to leave the Moon, and he didn’t have a future here.

Maybe he was just being realistic when he broke up with her.

Or maybe he was just being a bastard.

She almost chucked the damn ring at the door again. It took all of her strength to keep from flinging that flimsy token of an even flimsier love at the stupid blue carpet.

Instead, she looked at the ring in her palm, saw the indentations it made against her skin, then noted that she had similar marks on her left ring finger. It would take a long time before evidence of that stupid ring would wear off.

She balanced the ring on her palm. She had no idea what she would do with that ring. Torkild had been right: she could buy a million of these things with her monthly allowance, not even touching the principal of her inheritance from her mother, not to mention the money she got from her father every month.

The ring was just a symbol of her stupidity.

She closed her fist around it again, then walked over to the man and his daughter. He looked at her in surprise.

The little girl looked at Berhane’s hand, as if searching for the ring.

Berhane opened her fist quickly, above the girl’s head, and showed the man the ring.

“You saw what happened,” she said softly to him. “I don’t want this. Someone else is intrigued with it.”

And she pointedly looked down at the top of the little girl’s head.

“It’s too expensive,” the man said.

Berhane smiled bitterly. “You don’t know who I am, do you?”

He frowned. “Should I?”

“I’m Berhane Magalhães, Bernard Magalhães’s daughter. I thought I was marrying for love, not for money, which is why I ended up with this ring.” She paused, and the man held up his hand.

“This isn’t about me,” he said.

“I know,” she said. “I’m telling you who I am so that you’ll know this ring is—”

To tell him that the ring was cheap in her estimation was elitist, and she only realized it when the sentence was halfway out of her mouth.

“Sorry,” she said. “It’s just that I’m not going to keep this. I could sell it, but that seems silly. I’d rather give it to someone who’ll find it special.”

His gaze stayed on hers. Then he let out a small laugh.

“You realize that some psychiatrist would say that, because you couldn’t give the ring back to your fiancé, you’re looking for a substitute to give the ring to.”

She let out a small laugh too. She couldn’t help herself.

“That psychiatrist would probably be right,” she said, shaking her head at herself. She hadn’t even realized it until this nice man pointed out what she was doing.

But she couldn’t go back on it now.

And she didn’t want to.

“I doubt,” she said, “that someone under the age of five qualifies as that substitute.”

The man gave her a sideways you’re-not-fooling-me glance. His daughter was looking up as if she could see what was on Berhane’s palm. At the mention of age, the girl’s eyes lit up.

“Now you’ve done it,” the man said lightly.

Berhane nodded. “Not as cagey as I thought, I guess.”

The man sighed, and scanned his daughter. She was shifting on her small feet, looking hopeful, glancing between her father and Berhane’s outstretched palm.

It was hard to miss how interested she was.

He sighed, then said, “I want to record you offering it to my daughter. Before you do, you have to tell her—and me—that you’re doing it because you want to.”

Berhane appreciated his caution. The last thing he needed was a jilted fiancée changing her mind about the token of that (horrible) affection. Not to mention deciding that this random man and his daughter, here in the Terminal, could be accused of stealing the ring.

“No problem,” Berhane said. “I’m happy to do it. Are you ready to record?”

He blinked, and the pupil of his right eye glowed for a second.

“Yes,” he said.

“Okay,” Berhane said. “I’m Berhane Magalhães. I am giving this ring of my own free will to….?”

She looked at the man. He said, “Fiona Ó Brádaigh.”

“To Fiona Ó Brádaigh,” Berhane said, then she crouched. The little girl—Fiona—was bouncing on her toes with excitement. “And I hope you’ll love and enjoy it for the rest of your very long life.”

The little girl took the ring as if it were the most precious thing she’d ever seen. She tried to slip it on her finger, but it was several sizes too big. She could fit two of her fingers into the ring.

Berhane reached around her neck and removed her necklace. It was just a chain with a charm at the bottom of it, something whimsical she had bought a few weeks ago on break from one of her classes.

She pulled the charm off, pocketed it, and then extended her hand.

“Let me,” she said to the little girl.

The girl clutched the ring.

“She’s trying to help, Fee,” the girl’s father said. “Let her put it on the chain.”

The little girl gave the ring back, lips thin, as if she expected Berhane to keep the ring again. Instead, Berhane slipped the ring through the chain, then hung it around the little girl’s neck.

The chain was still too big. It extended to the bottom of the little girl’s rib cage. The girl clutched the ring as if she would never let it go.

“What do you say, Fee?” the man asked.

The little girl looked at Berhane, whose cheeks were flushing again. The child didn’t trust her. Of course not. Her relationships—

Then the girl launched into her arms, hugging her tightly. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she whispered in Berhane’s ear, then pulled away so fast that Berhane felt breathless.

The girl clung to her father’s leg.

Berhane stood.

“That was a kindness,” he said. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” Berhane said. “But I’ve learned—well, it doesn’t matter. I should be thanking you both for making this morning a little easier.”

The girl looked at her, hand still clutching the ring.

The man smiled at her—a real smile for the first time.

“I hope the universe is nicer to you after today,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said. “I’ll be all right. I think it’ll end up being a kindness for both of us.”

“Wish I could have your optimism about things,” the man said. “It’s a gift.”

“No,” she said. “It’s hard earned.”

And then she walked away. Somehow she’d figure out how to put Torkild behind her.

She needed to.

THREE

LUC DESHIN SAT cross-legged on the hand-woven rug, shoes off, palms resting against the soft wool. The rug was worth more than his house—each of the rugs in this large room was worth more than his house. In fact, everything in here was so expensive that he was afraid to sneeze.

He was sitting with nearly one hundred of the most important business leaders on the Moon. Some (all) were considered shady, and a good ten percent (like himself) were considered more crime lord than legitimate businessman.

Yet no authority had ever been able to pin anything on any of them, no matter how hard someone tried.

In fact, most city governments left them alone, particularly here in Yutu City. Yutu City welcomed them like no other city government on the Moon had in the past.

This facility was testament to it. A series of meeting rooms, all hidden under arches and minarets, served as Yutu City’s main conference center, even though the facility belonged to a private company run by Ghodrat Kerman.

This year, Kerman was running the entire meeting, and he was making certain no one would forget it. He also made sure everyone here knew how important he was, and to Kerman, important meant wealthy.

Deshin didn’t like ostentatious displays of wealth.

And he considered everything in this large room, with its individual rugs for all of the participants, ostentatious. And they hadn’t even gotten to the food service yet. Kerman had promised the best meal this group had ever eaten.

Deshin doubted anyone could live up to that claim: he’d eaten spectacular food all over the known universe. But he knew that the Gathering, which had no official name attached to it, had a competitive streak when it came to meals. Each participant wanted to prove to the others that he was wealthier than all of them and had better taste.